Tales of the Vangen: The Siege of Middengard (Book 2)

Chapter 13: Prior Commitments

{The Vangen Captain made me his sword-teacher today. In exchange for food, I am to ride with his company and tutor him the same way my father taught me. Some of those in the tribe, namely Andelherd and his ilk, have expressed their displeasure. They see the Vangen's hospitality as an affront against their very way of life. That which is freely given and not keenly taken is nothing more than low hanging fruit, but I should think otherwise. As my father used to say, pride feeds the heart but never fills the belly.}

-Elba ov Everett, an excerpt from her personal memoirs

"I don't like this plan, Elba. Not one bit." Sigismund set his jaw into a scowl, as he always did whenever he disapproved of her choices. Since the day they'd first started scheming with one another, she'd come to know that scowl rather well. It had kept her from making too many rash decisions in the past, but today it would have little effect.

"Gods save me, Sigismund. First Kirick and now you?" Elba steered her horse around one of the Vangen baggage carts, giving a friendly wave as they passed. Some guardsmen paused to wave back, the rest heaving and pulling through the mucky, wet ground. Only a few days had passed since the battle against the Middenites, the Vangen already making their move towards Middengard, and a slow going at that.

"I'm just saying," said Sigismund, following doggedly at her heels on his own horse. "Captain Libro has given us enough food to last through the month. Even more, if we rationed accordingly. You don't have to keep making deals with him ."

"And where would we go?" Elba glared over at Sigismund. "If you haven't noticed, the Medial is still thoroughly picked clean. We ration for a month, maybe even two, but what then?"

"We could leave the Medial. We're nomads. We're not meant to stay in one place."

Elba found herself mulling the idea over. They could ride south if they wanted to, towards Macedonibus, or even west into Francha. Riding north was simply out of the question, given the bad blood between the Vostoch and the Keevan Rahs. They'd have her people hanging from an Elder Tree long before they'd cross into Danic. In the end, though, there was one thing keeping her in the Medial. The one thing that truly mattered to her.

"No," Elba shook her head sadly. "We can't leave. Not until my father's condition improves. Besides, I can't make those decisions. I was named Chief by title alone. As if I could hold any real power."

"And you think this idea is better? Sticking around to be some southerner's sword-teacher? Who, might I add, is currently trying to bring down the most impenetrable city in all the great Con." Sigismund waved a hand out towards the sprawling line of baggage carts, marching guardsman, and cavaliers, all jostling and clambering, clattering and cursing together in the muck. More than once, they'd pass a gaggle of these armored honeybees with their checkered yellow-black tabards, either fixing a broken wheel or scraping mud off their boots by the handful. "This little war of theirs is doomed to fail from the start."

"What if it doesn't?" Ebla held the question like a knife towards Sigismund. "What if they actually succeed in bringing down the Middenites?" She stared off into the distance, her heart suddenly longing for something she did not know, the mists churning over the verdant hills around her. "We wouldn't ever have to leave this place. We could live here. Settle. Plant our roots into the ground and stop roaming. This land could be ours."

Sigismund snorted. "And here I thought those kinds of decisions weren't up to you."

"They're not," agreed Elba. She shook the thought away. "but as I said earlier, we're in no shape to simply pack up and leave right now. Not with a lack of supplies and the specific needs of our people."

"You mean your father," said Sigismund impudently, sounding a lot like Andelherd in that moment.

"I mean our Chief." Elba corrected him through gritted teeth, realizing too late the harsh tone she'd set into her words. She watched in dismay as Sigismund, her greatest friend and ally, grow  sullen, turning away with downcast eyes to stare out at the road ahead.